


From Under the Juniper Tree

by BlueMoonRoses



Series: Horror Movies [3]
Category: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Implied/Referenced Attempted Suicide, M/M, Memory Loss, Murder, it's a mash up of all the movies, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 11:08:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17959337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMoonRoses/pseuds/BlueMoonRoses
Summary: There’s a sound of excitement from Bubba and he grabs your hand, all but dragging you out the back door as Luda Mae calls out one last thing after you.“Stay out of the basement.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's a Texas Chainsaw fic, that should be warning enough to read at your own risk, my dudes. (Although if asked, I will add more tags if it's really necessary.)
> 
> Basically this is an AU where both the Hewitts and the Sawyers are one family - or are at least very closely related. So far I've only seen the original 1974 movie and the 2003 remake, so if anything seems OOC for certain characters that's why. Leatherface is kind of a composite of all versions of him, but mostly based off of Bubba Sawyer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To keep the timeline from being too confusing, let's just say that this takes place sometime in the 70's.

The sweltering summer heat of Texas creates a sort of haze over the day – suffocating and sluggish – and there’s barely a reprieve from it as a light breeze comes through the tall grass.

Cicadas are crying and the midday sun beats down from on high.

There’s a shout that breaks through the relative silence, one hand gripping an ankle and the other grabbing the back of a shirt, fingers clawing at the dirt, blood smeared on the wooden floors.

The noise doesn’t wake up the lone figure on the second floor, sleeping soundly, as if dead to the world…

***

You wake up, bleary eyed and disoriented and covered in a thin layer of sweat, on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room.

There’s a fan above you that spins lazily; you watch it while you try to recall how you got here but there’s nothing. After a few more moments of trying to remember and coming up with absolutely nothing, you try to get up but fall back onto the bed with a groan of pain as your head aches and throbs with each heartbeat as nausea rolls through you.

_Where are you? How long have you been asleep? What happened?_

At the sound of floorboards creaking, heavy footsteps and a soft, almost animalistic squeal, your head lolls to the side and you freeze at the sight of probably what is the biggest man you’ve ever seen.

There’s something strange about his face _(it looks too loose and ill-fitting and you know faces aren’t supposed to be like that)_ but he approaches slowly and carefully, the same way one approaches a frightened animal.

He comes to a stop by the bed and kneels down next to it, making a delighted sound when you don’t try to move away from him. Not that you could, not without making your head hurt worse than it already is.

“Who are you?” you manage to croak out, wincing at how sore your throat feels.

The man smiles and starts babbling at you, but you can’t understand a word of it, and it’s at this point that you realize that what you thought was his face is actually a mask. An odd, leathery looking mask held together by thick twine.

(It smells faintly of old leather and iron. You don’t want to know what it’s made of.)

“Bubba!” someone calls out, and the man stops his babbling to look at the closed door.

“Is that your name? Bubba?”

He grins, revealing crooked teeth, and nods excitedly at you, greasy black curls bobbing along with the movement.

“Bubba Hewitt-Sawyer!” another voice calls, and Bubba’s shoulders curl forward, and it reminds you of a child being caught doing something they shouldn’t be. “You get down here right now.”

You watch as he scrambles to his feet, and pauses at the door, gesturing with his hands for you to stay put. You’re pretty sure you can’t get up without getting sick right now, but you nod anyway. Bubba grins again and slips out of the room, closing the door behind him.

As his loud, thumping footsteps get further and further away, you briefly wonder if you’re having some kind of fever dream, but throw that possibility out when you pinch your arm.

Okay, so not a dream. You’re really here – wherever _here_ is – and you can’t remember anything and there’s a guy named Bubba who you can’t understand.

You look around the room from where you’re sprawled on the bed. There isn’t much; one bedside table, a desk and a chair, and an antique looking chifforobe.

But hanging in the open window is a strange looking wind chime.

 _Those look like bones,_ pops into your mind, but you shove that thought away. You’re probably blowing this way out of proportion, anxiety and nerves making you paranoid for no reason.

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and wait for Bubba to come back.

It’s not like there’s much else you can do right now.

***

“He needs to get rid of it!”

“Aw, c’mon now, let ‘im keep it. The boy deserves to have something that makes him happy.”

“I’m with Charlie on this; he can’t keep it.”

“If he wants to keep a pet, I don’t see why he can’t.”

“Bubba’s pet will earn his keep if it’ll make you feel better. Lord knows I need more help around the house.”

“See? Even Luda Mae and Heather think it’s a good idea.”

“Shut the hell up, Nubbins. Fine, Bubba can keep the damn thing, but he’s responsible for it. You hear me, Bubba?”

***

You’ve been watching the wallpaper peel and curl in the top right corner, the stinging ache in your head having turned into a dull, occasional thud, when the door creaks open.

Bubba shuffles in, bashful grin on his face from what you can see despite the mask, and two women come in after him; the younger one has short hair and smiles calmly at you, and the older one looks stern in her faded floral patterned dress and with her gray hair pulled back.

The older woman peers at you from behind her cat-eye glasses. 

“Get him cleaned up and bring him down to the kitchen,” she says and leaves, the younger woman following after her.

Your brow furrows in confusion – you have no idea what’s going on – but then Bubba’s got a hold of your hands and hauling you upright, babbling a mile a second. His hands are warm and calloused, something for you to focus on instead of how your vision swims and the world tilts as you try to get your feet under you.

With a soft grunt, you plant one hand on Bubba’s chest and steady yourself, and from this close up you realize that the other man actually isn’t all that much taller than you; yeah, he’s definitely got a few inches on you, although he _is_ much broader and bulkier than you are, which is probably why it seemed like he was impossibly large when you first woke up.

You have to lean heavily on Bubba, but he takes your weight easily without even breaking a sweat, and between the two of you, you manage to shuffle out of the room and down the hall towards a bathroom. He helps you get into the bathroom and steps back over the threshold when you can support yourself by leaning on the sink counter.

“Thank you,” you find yourself saying, and meaning it; it’s an easy to miss gesture, but you genuinely appreciate the small bit of privacy he’s offering.

There’s a grin of giddy delight and a small excited squeal as Bubba closes the door for you and then you’re alone. Well, as alone as you can get.

You turn both knobs of the sink on and while the basin fills you look into the small, oval mirror, only to be met with a thin layer of caked on grime. Grimacing, you grab a hand towel and wipe away as much of it as you can, until you can get a good look at yourself.

There’s an uncomfortable swoop in your stomach, because you don’t recognize yourself; the red hair, the green eyes, the freckles, the light dusting of stubble on your strong jaw, none of it looks familiar.

A trill of fear runs down your spine. How much have you forgotten? What exactly is the extent of it?

You don’t know.

You don’t _know_ and that scares you more than the fact that you’re in an unfamiliar house of strangers.

Letting out a shaky sigh, you twist the knobs off and bend over the sink enough to scoop water into your hands to wash your face, getting rid of the dirt and dried sweat. You let out a quiet hiss when one of your hands accidentally brushes your neck, and when you look into the mirror again, tugging aside the collar of your shirt, your eyes go wide at the sight of a rope burn mark that seems to wrap all the way around.

 _What the hell happened to me?_ you think.

Your head aches at the thought, so you push it away, drain the sink, and open the door to find Bubba waiting for you.

***

The house looks old and well-lived in and dirty.

(You think you see a few piglets running around in one of the rooms you pass.)

You follow Bubba as he leads you into the kitchen, where the older woman from earlier waits, sitting at a large table in the center of the room.

Her expression is still impassive when she sees you.

“You any good at cooking?” she asks and it throws you for a loop.

_What?_

“Excuse me?”

“Cooking. You any good at it?” she asks again, a little impatiently this time.

“Uh… Maybe? I’m not really sure.”

“You got family?” she asks next and _shit,_ you don’t know that either.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, but it just makes her frown at you.

“Are you yanking my chain, boy? What do you _mean_ you don’t know?”

“I mean I don’t know. The only thing I remember is waking up. Honest, ma’am,” you promise, looking from her to Bubba, an agonizing nervousness building up in your gut; if they don’t know who you are then… fuck, you don’t know and isn’t that the most frustrating thing?

Bubba lets out a whine, apparently distressed that you’re distressed, and the older woman relents, her face softening a bit.

She sighs, getting up from her seat. “It’s probably for the best then. You’re staying, so you’ll pick up on the cooking eventually. For now, you’ll just be cleaning and helping Bubba out with the pigs. You got a name?”

That’s… a lot of information to take in, and you’d maybe say something about the decision of you staying that seems to have been made without your consent or input, but you don’t know where you are and you’d rather not offend her since she’s allowing you to stay, so you let it slide. Besides, you’re just as much of a stranger to them as they are to you, so it’s honestly very generous of them.

It’s the name thing that’s really throwing you off though. Just like everything else you _should_ know about yourself, that too has been wiped clean, pretty much leaving you a blank slate.

“I don’t remember,” you admit quietly.

Her face softens a little more at that, a flash of pity in her eyes.

“Juniper, then. It’s what Bubba’s been calling you anyway.” She grabs a dish rag and heads for the kitchen sink. “I’m Luda Mae. Don’t mind the others; they’ll introduce themselves to you. I’ll show you what needs to be cleaned around the house tomorrow, but Bubba can show you how to muck out the pig pen now.”

There’s a sound of excitement from Bubba and he grabs your hand, all but dragging you out the back door as Luda Mae calls out one last thing after you.

“Stay out of the basement.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little side note, but we're going with Bubba's height being about 6'5, so Juniper (the You/Reader character) is about 6'


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where am I going with this? I'm not sure, I've only got a really vague idea, but have some build up!
> 
> I'm so sorry if Heather is OOC, I've never seen Texas Chainsaw 3D, so I'm just kind of using the wiki as a guide.

Bubba shows you how to muck out the pig pen, and while you still can’t understand what he says you, get the gist of what needs to be done.

The enthusiasm that practically radiates from him doubles when he shows you the chicken coop and carefully gives you a chicken to hold. The smile doesn’t drop from his face for even a moment and you can’t help how your mouth hitches up in a smile of your own; Bubba’s happiness is pretty damn infectious.

You also take the chance to get a better understanding of your surroundings, but there’s not much to see; the house looks like something out of _‘Gone with the Wind’_ but worn down and faded, there’s no road – not even a gravel driveway even though there’s a police car and what looks like a tow truck parked on one side of the house – just tall grass that gives way to a dark and dense tree line.

“Hey, Bubba,” you say, looking away from the tree line. “Where are we?”

Bubba quiets at that, head tilting at you in what you assume is confusion, but you can’t be sure because the mask he wears hides his expression so well that all you can see of his face is his mouth and brown eyes.

“Just a little ways outside of Newt,” a voice pipes up from behind; it’s a young woman – younger than the one you saw when you woke up – with long dark hair. Her smile is friendly, if a little distant. “I’m Heather, Bubba’s cousin.”

“Juniper,” you introduce yourself – out of the corner of your eye, you can see the bashful smile return to Bubba’s face.

Heather nods before turning to Bubba. “Your ma needs help hauling the pork loins and ribs up out of the basement. I’ll keep Juniper company for you.”

Bubba makes a small grunting sound and hands the chicken he’d been holding over to Heather before heading back into the house.

Without Bubba around, you feel a bit of awkwardness settling in; in the few hours you’ve been awake, Bubba had been an almost constant – and incredibly comforting – presence. You’re not really sure what to talk about, but Heather seems content enough to quietly pet the chicken in her arms.

“This must be pretty overwhelming, huh?” Heather asks, breaking the silence.

“A little,” you admit and she chuckles.

“Well, I don’t think anyone would begrudge you a bit of time to yourself when you need a breather, but a bit of advice: don’t leave sight of the house.”

You can feel your brows furrowing at that. “Why?”

Heather looks at you, something in her pale blue eyes sending an icy chill down your spine. “Because it’s pretty easy to get lost in the woods if you’re not familiar with them. Hell, I’ve lived here my whole life and _I_ still get turned around out there sometimes.”

Your gaze goes back to the woods and yeah, you’d rather not try going for a walk through there by yourself. Not that you had been intending on venturing too far from the house anyway, but it’s good that someone has warned you about getting lost out there. Even if something isn’t sitting quite right with you.

You brush it off as nothing more than nerves trying to get the better of you.

“C’mon. We should wash up before dinner. Aunt Luda is a stickler for manners.” Heather sets the chicken down, wiping her hands on her skirt. “That and I figure no one’s really given you the grand tour yet, or at least shown you around the first floor.”

You stand to follow, but hesitate, the awkwardness and reality of being surrounded by strangers settle in again. But Heather just grins at you, like there’s a joke and she’s the only one who knows what it is.

“Don’t worry, Bubba will come find us when he’s done helping his ma,” Heather tells you with a pat on your shoulder.

***

The first floor has an odd layout – at least, it’s pretty odd in your opinion. It’s all large rooms and halls so narrow it’s almost claustrophobic. But then there are just certain parts in the way some of the rooms are shaped where it seems like there’s… wasted space? You don’t really know how to describe it.

You mention as much to Heather and she just grins.

“It’s an old house, Juniper. You’d be surprised at the stories and secrets held within these walls.” The grin on her face hitches up a little higher. “I’m sure if you asked Bubba he wouldn’t mind showing you some of the secret rooms.”

“Secret rooms?”

She hums as she leads you into a room with a lot of built in shelves – probably a library at some point – but it’s filled with odds and ends. “Yep. Who knows what they were used for originally, but they got a lot of use during prohibition. Now they’re just used for storage or junk. Mostly. Nubbins uses a couple of them as dark rooms.”

And then she presses down on a certain part of the stylized carving on the shelves, you can hear a faint _thunk_ and the shelf pops back and slides into the wall to reveal a small room filled with sewing supplies.

“There should be a trunk of spare clothes around here somewhere,” Heather says as she steps into the cluttered room. “Since you don’t have anything but what you’re already wearing you can pick and choose what you want.”

“Thanks,” you say, a little stunned because you hadn’t even thought about that, and having more than one set of clothes will probably be a good thing, especially since you’re going to be staying here. At least for the time being.

(You try not to think too much about the future, about what you’ll do if you never remember anything about who you were.)

You hear the floorboards creak before you feel the gentle tug on the back of your shirt. Turning your head to look, you’re met with brown eyes and a mask. There’s a low, sort of rumbling sound from Bubba, and you don’t know if it’s supposed to be a question or what, but you _are_ happy to see him – most of the lingering anxiety melting away – so you smile at him, which gets you a smile in return.

“Bubba,” comes from the secret sewing room and his attention shifts from you to Heather. “Do you know where the clothes trunk is?”

He grunts and goes over to help Heather look, letting go of your shirt as he moves past you.

You watch from the doorway as Bubba hauls out two huge steamer trunks from underneath a table, scraps of cloth and spools of thread falling from the sudden movement. Heather opens up one of the trunks and clothes of various sizes and colors spill out of it. She grabs a dark red shirt, holds it up, nose scrunching in distaste.

“Definitely not your color.”

She continues digging through the trunk, but Bubba plucks out a dark brown shirt with tiny, pale yellow flowers on it, and brings it over to you. It’s soft to the touch and smells faintly of pine, and judging by eye, it looks like it’ll fit you although it might be a little loose on your lean frame.

“This is really nice, thank you,” you say and that shy smile of his returns.

A thought strikes you as your eyes land on the trunks again.

“Why are there so many spare clothes anyway?”

Bubba answers you, but you still can’t understand him when he talks, so Heather speaks up, her eyes flicking from you to Bubba then back to you.

“There aren’t any hotels in Newt, so from time to time we host guests. You’d be surprised at what people leave behind.”

Bubba nods in agreement with what she says, but there’s a bit of… hesitation to it. He lets out a tiny grunt, taps the wall six times and Heather gets up from she’d been sitting on the floor next to the avalanche of clothes.

“You’re right, dinner will probably be ready soon.” She slips past the two of you. “You can come back with Bubba after and choose some more.”

***

Dinner is loud and cramped with Bubba and Heather’s family all crowded together around the table. It’s all jostling elbows and excited chatter that you barely catch, and even though you’re sitting between the two cousins you’re practically pressed against Bubba’s side.

This table definitely wasn’t made to seat eleven people.

You know Heather said that Luda Mae was a stickler for manners, but after the platters of food have been set down it’s like watching a pack of hungry wolves descend on the food. You would’ve been worried that it would all be gone before you even had a chance to take a bite, but Bubba plucks the serving plate of pork out of Nubbins’ – Heather has been pointing out who is who for you since everyone is gathered in one place – hands for you.

The various conversations continue to go on around you, but it feels like there are eyes on you as you take a bite out of the pork.

It tastes like it should – or at least what you’re pretty sure it should taste like – but there’s… something slightly _off_ about the flavor. Maybe it’s the seasoning? You’d ask, but you don’t want to come off as rude and you’re hungry enough to ignore the odd taste. The more you eat the more the feeling of being watched dissipates. Especially when Bubba offers you a second helping and you take it.

It still tastes a little strange.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this chapter (and on my other fics in this series), but I had to take a bit of a break from writing, and then I got sick, and then life got in the way. Hopefully I'll be able to start updating regularly again! Thank you guys for your patience.

There’s the sound of a rope pulled taut and swinging, a slow snapping sound, and suddenly a weightless sensation.

You wake with a quiet, almost inaudible gasp, curled up so tightly and facing a wall of old, floral wallpaper that for a moment, you forget where you are. A soft snuffling noise brings your sleep addled mind back to the present; you’re at the Sawyer _(Hewitt-Sawyer?)_ home, a little ways outside of a town called Newt, and the solid, comforting warmth behind you is Bubba, and your name is Juniper.

The bed is cramped with the two of you in it – neither of you are short by any means, and Bubba is definitely broader and sturdier you are – but there weren’t any other rooms or spare beds available. Apparently the last out of town guests they’d had had ruined the mattresses or something; you hadn’t really asked and they hadn’t really elaborated.

Besides, you don’t really mind sharing with Bubba, and he hadn’t seemed put out about it either. And curled up like this, with him curving around you, makes you both fit, even if it is a little tight. That and you feel... safe.

Carefully, you press back against his chest, pull the arm he has draped over your hip a little tighter around you. He mumbles something and buries his face in your hair before falling silent again.

You don’t know what it is, but something about that… _dream_ you had is making you uneasy. _Anxious._ Which is really ridiculous when you think about it; nothing even happened in it, it was just pitch black and some sounds, that’s it.

So why does it make you feel so hollow?

At the sound of faint howling, you tense up, the hair on your arms standing on end. There’s some mostly asleep murmuring and cooing from Bubba until you relax, but that howling… 

Monty had told you that there are coyotes around, and sometimes their howling and yipping can get pretty loud, but… there’s just something about it that sticks to you.

 _It’s just nerves,_ you tell yourself. _You don’t know who you are and you’re in an unfamiliar place, your mind is just playing tricks on you is all._

You fall asleep trying to count all the flowers on the wallpaper and to the slow, steady rhythm of Bubba’s breathing.

***

You wake again, just a little after the sun starts rising, the faint morning light painting the walls a soft pink.

The world is silent. No howling coyotes, nothing.

Sighing quietly through your nose, you close your eyes and lay there for a while, glad to see that it really was just your imagination and nerves. The arm Bubba still has wrapped around you is a reassuring weight, if not a little difficult to wiggle out of without waking him.

The house is quiet as you carefully step out of the bedroom, leaving the door open behind you when you head down the hall towards the bathroom. Everything looks different this early in the morning, the faint light casting a new appearance to the walls and the framed pictures hanging on them. If you didn’t know better, you’d almost think that this was a completely different house.

Or maybe it is a different house, because you’ve somehow managed to get lost on the way to the bathroom. Maybe you’re not as awake as you thought? Because somehow you’ve ended up in a completely unfamiliar hall, and it was quiet before, but now…

Now it’s almost like there’s an oppressive _silence_ pushing down on you.

Your eyes catch on a door that’s barely open. Curiosity piqued, you step closer to it, opening the door a little more; inside is mostly dark, the heavy curtains drawn, and the only light comes from an old lamp that sits next to a figure lying in the bed. For a moment, you think it’s a mannequin of some kind, but you can’t for the life of you figure out why there’d be one here, especially one that looks like an old man whose skin is nothing but wrinkles and looks oddly waxy.

But then its eyes move, looking right at you and all the hair on your arms stand on end, especially when his mouth parts in a rattling breath, one wrinkled boney hand lifting and—

You hadn’t realized you were backing away until a hand drops onto your shoulder and you slap a hand over your mouth to keep from waking the whole house with a scream. Another warm hand holds onto your arm and there’s the sound of soft shushing and murmuring that breaks the silence; you realize it’s just Bubba and your shoulders sag in relief. He leads you from the room, gesturing for you to wait before he steps back into the room.

There’s faint birdsong from outside the window. Judging from what you can see outside, you’re guessing that this is more towards the back of the house, which is probably why nothing seemed too familiar.

You don’t have to wait for long when Bubba finally comes back out, closing the door softly behind him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb him. I got lost,” you explain, feeling at least a little embarrassed about getting freaked out by an ancient looking old man. Who had probably been asleep. Even if his eyes were open. “Who is he?”

Bubba looks at you for a moment, still looking pretty tired (and a little amused? It’s hard to tell since he’s still wearing that mask), then reaches out to gently take your hand, leading you through the halls and coming to a stop in front of what looks like an old family photograph.

The picture is a little faded around the edges, one of the few on the wall in color. In it, there’s what looks like a younger Luda Mae, a few others who look to be around the same age as her, a few kids, and an old man. So the old man in the picture is probably the same one you just saw.

“I’m guessing he’s your grandpa then?”

Bubba smiles and nods at you before he starts pointing at different pictures, quietly babbling as he does so, obviously trying to share something with you. You don’t catch much – or any of it really – but from the various gestures and pointing, you’re fairly confident you get the gist of it. The framed photographs tell a story, although it’s one you don’t have the context for, but from what you gather, it looks like the family has a history of working at a slaughterhouse; you’re not quite sure what the importance of that is, but maybe it’ll become more apparent as time goes on?

One photograph catches your eye; a small group of teenagers at what looks like a holiday gathering, one of them in particular towering over the rest.

“Is that you?” you ask Bubba, who suddenly goes shy on you.

He nods, a barely there thing, and you study the photograph a bit more; even then, Bubba had towered over everyone. It’s strange, seeing a younger version of a face you still haven’t seen entirely – strong facial features softened by still lingering baby fat, thick dark curls of hair, and big brown eyes – but it gives you a better idea of what lies hidden beneath the odd mask. The fact that in all the pictures Bubba is in on the wall, in none of them is he wearing his mask. What you’re guessing is the most recent photo of Bubba, is of him and who you recognize as his grandfather, both standing in front of a slaughterhouse. His first day of work maybe?

So sometime between then and now he started wearing it, and it leaves you curious to say the least.

It also leaves you wondering about yourself. About who you were before you lost your memories and Bubba found you.

“Are the pictures of me on someone’s wall?” you murmur, lost in thought. _Are there photos of you when you were younger? Surrounded by family? Are there any of you at all somewhere?_ You don’t know. It leaves a sad, sinking feeling in your chest either way. One that presses a little too hard against your ribs.

When Bubba makes a questioning sound, you tear your attention away from the wall of family photographs and offer up a half smile when you notice his expression – from what you can see of it – is knotted into a confused and sad frown.

“Just thinking out loud,” you tell him, but it doesn’t do much to ease away the frown.

His hand that isn’t still holding yours reaches up and ruffles your hair. You snort, your half smile hitching up into something more like a genuine one, and you playfully swat at his hand which he catches easily.

With a smile of his own, crooked teeth and crinkled eyes and mostly obscured by the mask, he leads you back towards more recognizable parts of the house.

***

Luda Mae had left a while ago, after you and Bubba had come downstairs, apparently the only ones in the household awake this early in the morning.

 _“The others will come and go over the next few hours,”_ she’d said as she wiped her hands off on a rag while you and Bubba were finishing up eating. Luda Mae had raised an eyebrow at how closely the two of you were sitting together despite the table not being overly crowded this time, but she didn’t say a word about it, instead continuing to tell you what needed to be done. _“After you help Bubba with the animals, the floors need to be swept and mopped. Don’t worry about upstairs; everyone takes care of their own room. Dishes can be cleaned by noon. Everyone will have finished breakfast by then.”_

She had paused in the doorway and turned back to look at you, holding your gaze as she reminded you to, _“stay out of the basement,”_ and then finally left.

It’s more than a little ominous how she keeps reminding you to not go into the basement, but you shrug it off; no one knows the extent of your memory loss, so she’s probably just trying to be cautious, and if it’s not that you remind yourself that you’re a stranger to her just as much as she is to you and she’s well within her rights to not want you wandering around her home.

Taking care of the animals doesn’t take too long, the pig pen and chicken coop in decent condition, so it’s mostly just feeding them today.

You follow Bubba back into the house and he shows you which hall closet has the cleaning supplies. Before you can haul out the broom and mop, Bubba taps your shoulder before gesturing for you to follow him once more.

The both of you come to a stop in front of what looks like a metal sliding door and you wonder how you hadn’t noticed it until now.

Bubba points to you, knocks on the metal door in a very specific rhythm, then points to himself.

You think you get the gist of it but you ask anyway to make sure. “Knock if I need you?”

He grins and nods.

“Is this the basement?”

Bubba’s grin dims the slightest bit, making him look serious behind the mask, but he nods again. Taking a deep breath, you nod in return, letting him know you understand. He presses his mouth (and the mask) gently to the top of your head and it eases the knot of dread that had been building up in the pit of your stomach without you noticing.

You reach out and squeeze his hand, a silent thank you, before taking a step back.

“See you later, Bubba.”

His nod is a little more enthusiastic, his grin lighting up again as you start heading back to the closet of cleaning supplies.

You can hear the quiet squeal of the door’s wheels in the track as Bubba hauls the door open.


End file.
